


They Eat Horses, Don't They?

by reject_sheep



Category: Leverage, due South
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reject_sheep/pseuds/reject_sheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hardison meets Eliot's old friend Fraser & the crew gets a new client</p>
<p>(Title totally, shamelessly stolen from an actual episode of Due South. This bears only the slightest resemblance to that episode. There is a dumpster, but I very much doubt that there will be a freezer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Eat Horses, Don't They?

“Eliot, who is that? Eliot. Eliot. Eliot.”

“DAMMIT, Hardison. I’m _working_.”

“Seriously. Eliot.”

“Who is who?”

“The dude in the red suit. At the bar. He’s asking for you, Eliot.”

“Oh, hey. That’s my friend Fraser.” Eliot, who had been helping out in the kitchen, yelled for one of the line cooks and asked if they can handle the rest of the night without him. Which they can — it’s a slow night, it’s almost closing, and he’s an extra set of hands. They’ve got plenty of people — he made sure of that when he did the schedules, just in case he had to leave for a job on short notice.

“Your … friend?”

“Yup.”

“Eliot.”

“ _What_ , Hardison?”

“Fraser. That’s a Mountie suit. And a Mountie hat.”

“Yeah, he’s a Mountie, what?”

“ _Benton_ Fraser?” Hardison sounded like he was considering hyperventilating.

“Mmm.”

“Eliot.”

“Yes?”

“You’re friends with _Benton Fraser?_ ” 

“Mmm-hmm.”

Hardison made that noise he makes, the one that’s kind of a squeak, that indicates shock and betrayal. It’s not quite the same noise he made when Parker said she liked CGI Yoda, but it’s close.

Eliot laughed. 

“Eliot.”

“Yeah?”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

Eliot dried his hands, ran them through his hair, and headed out to the bar. “Hey, Fraser.”

“Eliot.”

“What brings you out to my neck of the woods? I thought you and Kowalski were shacked up up north.”

“We were. We are.”

“Good. I liked Kowalski.”

Fraser grunted. 

“So what do you need? Sandwich? Drink?”

“Tracking.”

“Ah. Retrieval?”

“Something like that.”

There was a horrible noise from the back, and Hardison came crashing out the kitchen door.

“What did you knock over, Hardison?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, maybe the trash, maybe a stove, introduce me to your friend.”

Eliot glared at him. 

Fraser smiled, brightly. “Yes, Eliot. Introduce me to your friend.”

Eliot growled. “You know I hate both of you, right? Fraser, this is Alec Hardison. Hardison, this is Benton Fraser. Don’t get all nerd-talk on me now.”

“Hardison. Oh my. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Fraser,” Hardison said, “you’re a goddamn legend, can I touch you?”

Fraser looked a little nonplussed, but shrugged. Hardison reached out and tentatively brushed the shoulder of Fraser’s uniform. “Ahh! Holy shit! Benton Fraser! In my brewpub! Anything you want, it’s yours, my firstborn, Lucille, anything.”

“Hardison. Calm down.”

“Lucille?”

“His van.”

“Oh. Thank you kindly. That won’t be necessary.”

“Seriously. I gotta go tell Parker.” Hardison was practically wriggling with excitement. “Aaaa. Gonna go tell Parker don’t leave.” He backed out of the room, staring at Fraser like he still didn’t believe he was there, and then raced down the hall. Eliot could hear, over the earbud, Hardison saying “Parker Parker Parker you’re never going to believe this!”

Eliot watched him go, with a certain fondness in his eyes, and said “Damn, Fraser. I didn’t know he’d react like _that_ , I would’ve asked you to visit a long time ago.”

“Indeed.”

“Sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“Actually, if you’re in charge of the kitchen, I _am_ feeling a bit peckish.”

“Hang on,” Eliot said, and went to put something together. 

Fraser observed the dining room while he waited. The restaurant seemed to be doing reasonably good business, although it was slow at the moment. It was a nice dining room, although it was quite clear that Hardison and Eliot disagreed on certain aspects of aesthetics. And management. He thought it looked like they had a pretty good thing going. Fraser, it must be acknowledged, was most looking forward to the opportunity to meet Parker. Fortunately, she wasn’t wanted for any crimes in Canada, so he wasn’t obligated to arrest her immediately. Neither was Hardison. Fraser resolutely continued to not see any strange coincidence there, or in the fact that the only country Eliot had never been on any major crimes lists in was Canada. He _did_ know why Eliot wasn’t going to get arrested on Canadian soil, although he would deny it. And had, at some personal risk.

Eliot came back with a sandwich and a bowl of soup, which Fraser took gratefully. “I think there’s some pemmican at my place if you really want it.”

“No, thank you, this will do nicely.”

Eliot let Fraser eat in peace, got himself a beer, and waited for the opportune moment, leaning on the bar and occasionally sipping. Hardison was finally learning how to make a decent brew, although it wasn’t quite to the point where he’d say that where Hardison could hear. He’d managed to convince him to stop trying to make ridiculous experimental beer and try something simple, for practice. He’d had to come up with a tortured hacking metaphor to make Hardison get his point, but he’d said something about starting with your school records not the Pentagon and Hardison had finally nodded like he understood. It was working — there’d been one tolerable IPA, and this was a pleasant enough stout. 

“So you’re in need of a tracker.”

“Possibly retrieval as well.”

“You know — they’re my team.”

“It’s good to know you have backup.”

“Eh, you can’t work alone forever.”

“True.”

“Speaking of. Where’s Dief?”

“Dief, ah. Dief is not as good at travel as he once was. He’s with Ray.”

“Oh.” Eliot touched Fraser’s shoulder in condolence, and went on, “So Parker’ll have to hear it.”

“I see.”

“But if you want to give me the basics?”

“It’s horse meat.”

“Oh.”

“Coming from a major corporate source, this time. That’s why I need your team to ... retrieve the evidence.”

* * *

Eliot leaned back on the couch, and smiled, feeling just a little bit smug.

“How is it that you’re friends with a cop that … straight?”

“Mmm. He's not _that_ straight.”

“Eliot.”

“Mmm?”

“Eliot, spill it.”

“Oh. Well, it involved a week-long chase through the Canadian wilderness.”

“Ugh, nature.”

“You should get out more, Hardison.”

“Whatever, Eliot, I get out plenty.”

“And a circus performer.”

Parker raised an eyebrow.

“Not like _that_ , Parker! Give me some credit.” 

“Pfft.” She did another thing with her eyebrow, and he leaned over to kiss her, suddenly feeling unbearably fond.

“Jerk.”

“Whatever. You like me.”

“Maybe.” She turned, kissed him, and got up to sit next to Hardison, who was barely holding it together. “You want to run it?”

“Benton _Fraser_.” Hardison’s voice cracked midway through Fraser, and he looked like he was about to cry. “Eliot’s been … keeping this from me for SIX YEARS, Parker, I can’t …”

“There, there. Here, drink some orange soda.”

“Thanks, babe,” he said, and glared at Eliot. “All right. Benton Fraser wants to hire us to track down a … horse thief?” 

“Technically true.”

“Apparently,” he used his remote to throw a picture of a disreputable-looking character onto the screen, “this is another food one. Someone is stealing — rustling? Wild horses. And butchering them.”

Eliot’s expression was dire.

“And since they’re wild horses, they’re _crawling_ with parasites.”

“How did he get involved?” Parker asked.

“Oh, apparently someone from a case he did when he was in Chicago — is that when you met him?”

“Hardison.” 

“Oh. Yeah, somebody from back then, an heiress or something? She called him.”

“And she knows how?”

“Well, the wild horse thing, she figured that out because of these auctions she goes to. She’s into … horse rescue?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing, Hardison, get out of your basement once in a while.”

“Basement?” Hardison said, “Basement?! Look at these windows!”

“Those aren’t windows, Hardison, they’re giant flatscreen monitors.”

“Ah, hell. Still not a basement.”

“Might as well be.”

“Do I need to buy you a farm so you can have horses, Eliot?”

He sank further into the couch. “No.”

“Fraser and his partner … what was his name?”

“Ray. Ray Vecchio.”

“They solved a case like this when he was working with CPD — apparently Fraser is even weirder than Eliot. He figured out that the meat at Ray’s grocery store wasn’t labelled correctly because of how it smelled.”

“It’s a very distinctive smell,” Eliot said, and grinned as Alec groaned.

“Both of you? You’re destroying my life here.” 

* * *

“We’re going to need a grifter. Unless you want to do it, Hardison?” Neither of the men could tell if she was serious; Hardison was a terrible grifter, most of the time, although every now and then he got lucky and nailed it.

“Nah, I gotta hack. Security’s gotten tighter since Vecchio and Fraser’s day.”

“Eliot?”

“Oh, call Tara. She’ll probably do it.”

“Really? Tara?”

“What?”

“Are you sure she’ll want to work with _you_?”

“Charm her, Parker, I know what you’re capable of.”

Parker, invisible in the ventilation shaft, smiled. “Fair enough. I’ll be out in a couple of hours. You got dinner?”

“Yeah.”

She was doing some recon, just … mostly because she could. They didn’t really need a thief to do it, but she liked to keep in practice and it helped her think. 

* * *

 

“All right, try this.” Eliot closed his eyes, turned his back on the target, took five steps forward, and tossed the dart over his shoulder.

Fraser smiled, and did the same.

They turned in unison to check the target; both darts were almost perfectly centered. As it should be.

“So you’re a legend in Hardison’s circles?”

“As you know, Eliot, there’s not much to do in the Territories during the winter. And my grandparents were librarians.”

“But you’re so … _law-abiding_.”

“Hacking is not only about breaking the law.”

“I meant to ask — why haven’t you tried to arrest them yet? You’re,” he gestured, “obviously still active.”

“They’re not wanted in Canada. I am only authorized to make arrests on Canadian soil, anyway, and I suspect I wouldn’t get them into an embassy regardless.”

Eliot nodded. He’d paid a _lot_ of money to get that done without Hardison realizing he was hiring another hacker; it was good to know it had _worked_. At least they’d have somewhere to go, if things ever went so bad they had to go to ground. 

Fraser grinned. “And it’s fun.”

“If you say so.”

“Indeed. Shall we go spar?”

“If you're sure you're up for it.”

"Are _you_?"

* * *

 

“You know, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Eliot says that as long as you don’t go into any Canadian embassies, you’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t believe you’re hiring me to work for a cop.”

“He’s not a normal cop.”

“No, he’s a _mountie_. He’s a _legend_ in law enforcement.”

“Apparently in hacking, too.”

“Did _not_ know that.”

“Hardison may never forgive Eliot. If he can get Fraser to hack something with him, he might be happy, but so far it’s all Eliot and Fraser doing … well, you know. They went out yesterday, came back muddy and smelling of skunk cabbage, I have no idea what they were up to and I am trying not to guess.”

Tara laughed. “I’m in. Watching Eliot troll Hardison ought to be worth the risk.”

“Good. When will you be able to get here?”

“Tomorrow, if you want me.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you. Want to get dinner?”

There was a long moment of silence over the line, but finally Tara said, “Sure.”

* * *

“Remind me why I’m in the dumpster with you _again?_ ”

“Because we need to find evidence.”

“And that requires … aaaaahhhh what was that?”

“Might’ve been a rat.”

“MIGHT’VE BEEN A RAT. Eliot, I am going to do something … I don’t even know.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just find me some meat packaging.”

“Ugh. What if I was allergic to peanuts, Eliot? There’s peanut butter everywhere!”

“Hardison. You’re not allergic to anything, and even if you were, I always carry an epi-pen.”

Hardison is suddenly silent.

“Oh, look, I found something. Let’s go.”

“Seriously?” he said, not moving. “You carry an epi-pen?”

“Yes, you idiot, now get out of the damn dumpster.”

“Why?”

“I _am_ allergic to things.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Eliot landed, soft on the ground, and reached back to help Hardison out of the dumpster.

“The great Eliot Spencer has allergies,” Hardison said, wonderingly.

“Shut up, Hardison.”

“What things?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Sure you will. Are you serious?”

“Maybe.”

“But you seriously have an epi-pen? Where?”

Eliot pulled it out of a side pocket in his jeans and showed it to Hardison. “Now can we go home? I need a shower.”

“Me too.”

“You need a shower? You didn’t _do_ anything.”

“Look at me! I’m covered in … I don’t even know. Spores! I’m _sure_ there were spores in that dumpster!”

Eliot punched him in the shoulder and laughed. “Fine. We’ll _both_ shower.”

“You gonna help me with my back?”

“Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

Hardison grinned. “I am _so_ lucky. Think Parker needs a shower?”

“Probably. She’s been crawling around in ductwork. Lots of dust.”


End file.
